


there's ice in his veins

by tobeconvincedoflove



Category: How to Get Away with Murder, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Don't Ask, Everyone is sassy, Gen, M/M, Merry Christmas, SO, abuse of chalk, ah yes the htgwm au no one asked for, but please read it, cosette is sassy, enjolras is a sexy math teacher, grantaire is kind of connor but not really, i love connor walsh tho so i'm not apologizing, kind of hyperventilation and a slight panic attack, mentions of sexual abuse, oh there's mentions of sexy times, this isn't edited and i spent two hours writing it this is weird and it's kind of awful, vague sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire really doesn't do boyfriends. Montparnasse generally doesn't kill people. Math teachers aren't supposed to be this hot. </p>
<p>(a How To Get Away With Murder AU that no one asked for but I just binge-watched the entire thing so here you go.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's ice in his veins

It starts when Eponine crashes into his apartment, crying so hard she’s barely breathing. Between the sobs and hauling her shaking form to the lumpy couch (he knows he gives Marius, aka the Puppy, shit for living in a bad part of town, but he’s not in a much better neighborhood), he manages to get the gist of what’s going on. Montparnasse, in an attempt to stop some math professor (all R knows is his name is French and Eponine has said it before but he can’t remember who it is) at Middleton from taking his shit out on Eponine, hit the man a little too hard. Thernadier, pissed his best man was going to end up in jail, called the cops from a burner phone after giving Montparnasse a brilliant concussion. 

“You’ve got to help him, R. Keating can—please.” Eponine’s voice cracks and rasps its way out of her chest, and R doesn’t care that she’s wrinkling one of his court suits. “It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault.” 

“I’ll see what I can do, Ep.” And Grantaire makes sure his voice is soft, because as much as Cosette fucking jokes he has ice running through his veins, he’s not going to be that person when Eponine’s like this. 

“You work for her; you can talk to her. It’s not his fault and if I had just _let him_ , but he was going to take away the scholarship—“ Eponine knows she’s rambling, and it’s so different from her normal, albeit wolfish, composure, that Grantaire just tightens his grip on her. 

“I’ll talk to her, Eponine. I promise I’ll call her as soon as you’re okay and see if she can do anything. Just try to breathe.” It takes almost half an hour before he can hand her a mug of tea (he doesn’t even drink tea. why is there tea in his apartment?) and call Annalise Keating. Surprisingly, she announces she’s on her way, which prompts half an hour of frantic cleaning on R’s part, and two hours later she’s calling the Keating Five together to go to the jail to talk to Montparnasse. 

****

*

“And she just took the case?” Bahorel’s almost shitting himself with excitement, despite the fact that it’s seven o’clock in the morning and they were looking at case files until four that morning. He’s glancing between Marius, Grantaire, Cosette, and Bossuet like Christmas has come early.

“I thought only The Puppy got this kind of special treatment,” Bossuet sasses, nudging Marius as they follow Annalise, Frank, and Bonnie through the jail. 

“She does more Pro-Bono work than you think,” Cosette shoots back, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. Everyone’s still pretty weirded-out by her very quick engagement to The Puppy, but it’s something else to make snarky comments about. And law students love being smart asses.

“Could you guys shut it before the client gets here, for once?” Frank’s voice is irritable, and it promptly shuts the Keating Five up. Good timing, too, because Montparnasse is being lead into the meeting room by two police officers, still managing to look gorgeous despite the unfortunate jumpsuit. 

“I’m your lawyer, Annalise Keating,” is how it starts, and it’s a fairly boring meeting. Annalise talks about bail, and Montparnasse (for once, and for that R is goddamn thankful) manages to not be the little shit he truly is at heart. With a nod to Grantaire, he’s lead away to be processed and released, and Keating turns on her students.

“R and Cosette, you’re going to the university. The professor is Lamarque; his protégé is the head of the math department, and you’re going to talk to him. Bahorel, Marius, and Bossuet, go find out more about Lamarque.” With that, they’re scurrying away to do Keating’s bidding. 

In the car, Cosette drives, and R narrates the research he’s doing. The mysterious protégé’s name is _Dr._ Enjolras, and he didn’t start his undergrad until he was almost twenty. He’s currently twenty-one. Fuck. He’s also really hot, which he of course shares with Cosette; he’s fucked enough guys for information that everyone is blatantly aware of his sexuality. Though he spares her the details of his super nerd-hot glasses and mess of blond curls (and the goddamn bowties and suspenders), he elaborates enough that she tells him to shut up. So Grantaire goes into how Lamarque got him out of a rough spot and got him into the university, and it’s all one giant math miracle from there. 

“He owes this guy everything. Why are we even bothering?” Cosette asks as they pull into the math building. None of them have ever been on this side of campus, and it’s an odd feeling. “What time does his next class let out?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Grantaire answers. Quietly, they make their way to a graduate class on some crazy shit R understands nothing of, and sit quietly in the back. Despite not knowing anything, R is captivated. If Enjolras is hot in pictures, that’s nothing compared to real life. His voice is rough and passionate as the chalk scratches on the board. Grantaire’s willing to bet that if Enjolras asked, he could get a lot better tech than the moving chalkboards that cause war flashbacks to Calc I, but he’s still using the chalk. Once everyone starts to file out, only a few lingering, Grantaire takes the lead in approaching Enjolras. 

“You’re defending Montparnasse.” Now that he’s not lecturing, Enjolras’s voice is completely different. It’s softer, less sure, and Grantaire can see the dark circles and the rather wiry frame not obvious when the man is commanding the attention of smart ass graduate students. And he’s probably younger than some of them. 

“Dr. Enjolras, we’re here to talk about Dr. Lamarque,” Grantaire says, being sure to put his best foot forward. Despite Enjolras’s rather professional look, R knows he looks classier, and he’s willing to use it. 

“Call me Enjolras. I hate titles.” It’s obvious Enjolras speaks out of instinct, blushing as he goes about straightening his papers. “I don’t know what happened between Montparnasse and Lamarque, but I do know Montparnasse is involved with Eponine. And Eponine’s a good student.” 

“A lot like you,” Grantaire says, and judging by Enjolras’s stiffening stature, he recognizes the silky-smooth quality of voice the law student is putting on. “Both brought here by Dr. Lamarque.” 

“You’ve done your research. I have another class in twenty minutes, and I’ll talk until then. That’s all you’ll get.” It’s not much, but Cosette visibly relaxes, before moving into her attack stance. The designer-clad girl is downright cunning when she needs to be, seemingly without trying. 

“Enjolras!” a voice suddenly calls, entering the lecture hall. It’s their torts professor, Courfeyrac, and a man still wearing a lab coat. Judging by Grantaire’s research, his name is Combeferre. “You’re eating lunch with us.” 

“I can’t until after the next class. Then I’m free for research the rest of the day.” Enjolras’s voice is hollow, and the two men only seem to walk faster towards their friend because of it. 

“You’re not getting away that easy. You haven’t eaten since—“ but as Courfeyrac recognizes the students in front of him, he cuts himself off. “You’re part of Keating’s group. What are you doing here?” 

“Professor Keating is defending Montparnasse in the case—“ Cosette starts, but Combeferre, crossing his arms and revealing white, full tattoo sleeves against brown skin, cuts her off.

“The case with Dr. Lamarque.” With a meaningful look at Enjolras, who’s now leaning against the edge of his desk, gripping the edge tightly, he merely sits down in the front row. 

“Show me what you’ve been learning from my devilish coworker,” their impish, young professor (seriously. this is like the holy trinity of extremely gifted teachers) says, sits next to Combeferre. 

“How did you meet Lamarque?” Cosette asks, and Enjolras sighs. 

“I was in a rough patch out of high school; he helped me out.” There’s a snort from Combeferre that Grantaire knows he’ll have to look into later, but for now he needs to see if they can get Enjolras on their side. “I was going to go down for something stupid, but somehow one of these two idiots got a hold of him who convinced Annalise Keating, actually, to help me out. He got me into the math program, and things just clicked. Now—“

“Now he’s on his way to solving one of the seven,” Combeferre finishes, smiling. Cosette notices it’s a little too tight to be natural. 

“I’m not,” Enjolras quickly corrects, but he’s blushing. “To solve one of the unsolvables… there’s a reason there’s a reward for figuring them out.” 

“Were you close with Dr. Lamarque?” Grantaire asks, to get this back on track. Already one student, this time obviously an undergrad (probably a freshman), cracked open the door only to leave again. 

“We had coffee from time to time. He was taking a lot of time to… to focus on Eponine.” Enjolras fumbles for a minute, and that’s when Grantaire knows there’s serious shit involved. Especially when he looks down to search through his stuff again.

“Breathe, Enj,” Courfeyrac reminds him, but for the most part he’s been content to watch his students in their element. 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, but tell Annalise that I know what she’s after and that I’ll help her out. I’ll come over after my last class.” Then Enjolras turns around, moving to erase the complicated math from the boards. 

“He doesn’t want to terrify the freshman,” Professor Courfeyrac supplies, and Cosette and Grantaire nod. “Decent job. I can see why Keating keeps you around.” With a wink, he pulls Combeferre out of the room by his hands, but Combeferre calls warnings over his shoulder about Enjolras needing to eat healthy. Once they’re gone, Enjolras visibly sags. Quickly muttering their thanks, Cosette and Grantaire retreat quickly. 

“More research in the car,” Cosette orders as they stalk back out to the car, her heels clicking happily against the pavement. “I want to know what he was talking about.” 

“On it, chief,” Grantaire sasses, but pulls out his phone. Somehow, Bahorel has the damn trophy and if he can win it back two weeks before exams, Grantaire will. Also, it might convince Keating to let him be the one to handle Enjolras. 

“Okay, so Combeferre’s the dude in the lab coat. He just graduated a year ago, but the university hired him before he graduated. He’s an experimental chemist, and a damn good one. Not one of Dr. Lamarque’s picks, but neither was Courfeyrac. The only three Lamarque has helped out in the past five years would be Eponine, Enjolras, and someone named Jean Prouvaire. Jean Prouvaire killed himself only a year after being at the university.”

“Well, shit. Does anyone know why?” Cosette asks, and Grantaire does a quick search.

“No. No note, no anything. Just a bullet through his skull,” Grantaire supplies, before doing more digging into Enjolras. “And that dumb thing Enjolras did? He punched a cop in the face and broke his nose after the cop was breaking up a fight. He’d been on parole from juvie at the time and because he’d passed eighteen, he’d be tried as an adult. And he was in juvie after his parents turned him in for some sort of drug use.” 

“He’s never done drugs,” Cosette says immediately. “There’d be marks. And he’s not the type.” 

“Parents wanted to get him gone, then. From the looks of these photos, a jury or judge would take one look at the piercings and shit and side with the parents,” Grantaire explains. “Why would they get rid of him, though?”

“Well, Enjolras was checking you out.” 

“Everyone checks me out,” Grantaire shoots back, but he’s gone a little red beneath his smirk. This is one client he doesn’t want to fuck, because that’ll fuck everything up. He wants to emotion-fuck him. What’s the normal word for that again? (Dammit, Grantaire doesn’t do boyfriends.)

“At least we can give Keating a positive report,” Cosette hums, and Grantaire just keeps flicking through old news articles and the like. 

“We still don’t know what Keating knows about him and Lamarque, or what Combeferre’s deal with Lamarque was.” Grantaire’s mostly talking to himself now, because Google has nothing left to offer him. This is dirt only Keating and Enjolras’s closest friends have. 

“Well, maybe she’ll tell us.” At that, Grantaire snorts, because if there’s one thing Annalise Keating never does it’s give away information to her students. They have to pull everything out her after they’ve already figured it out for themselves. 

“Shut it. Just get your ass in there and let me know if she says anything,” Cosette says as they pull into the driveway of the house Grantaire yearns to sketch. But no one’s ever going to find out he has a minor in art. Straightening his tie, Grantaire walks confidently into his boss’s office. 

“You’re back quickly,” is all Professor Keating says for a while, not even looking up.

“Dr. Enjolras is coming over after his last class for the day. He says that he knows what you want from him but he’ll help you out,” Grantaire relays. “I don’t know what dirt he, and you, have on Lamarque, but it’s weird considering how close the two were.” At that, Professor Keating makes a huffing noise. 

“We’ll see if you can piece this one out.” Professor Keating says, and Grantaire turns to leave. “Wait. Try to keep it in your pants for once, Grantaire. I like Enjolras.” Sufficiently shamed, Grantaire quickly exits the office to do more research (or twiddle his thumbs until the other three appear with fresh information). 

****

*

When there’s a knock on the door at the door at exactly six o’clock, it’s Frank who gets it (he never gets the goddamn door). When a familiar mop of curls appears, Frank promptly wraps Enjolras in a tight embrace. After the pleasantries, he’s ushered inside, directly past the group of five students.

“Hello, R,” Enjolras greets, and that’s when Grantaire knows he’s not the only one doing a little stalking. He doesn’t go by his nickname a lot in the workplace, but it’s fairly obvious from his Facebook (and grindr) what it is. 

“Hello.” Grantaire’s voice is tight, but he makes the effort of looking up from the files, which hurts his neck more than it should. He’s about to say something else, but then Enjolras smiles at him and it renders Grantaire too speechless to do much of anything. (Since when is _Grantaire_ that pathetic?) 

“Connor,” Annalise greets, also going in for a hug before quickly leading Enjolras into her office. 

They don’t emerge for hours. 

****

*

“Professor Keating needs to see you.” This time, it’s only Grantaire who’s sent to fetch the math professor, and he still knows jack about how this is even fucking relevant to Montparnasse’s case. Also unlike last time, there are no students in the classroom… just Enjolras’s work on the board and him frowning at it while Combeferre and Courfeyrac watch from over the tops of their salads. Enjolras hasn’t even opened his.

“I’m going to be getting five late assignments again, aren’t I?” Courfeyrac groans, and Grantaire just smirks.

“Sent mine in last night… um, technically this morning,” he reports, and the professor cackles. He’s wearing Enjolras’s glasses on the top of his head and he throws his head back in the act of laughter. 

“So I’m going to get five asleep students instead. Brilliant.” Courfeyrac’s voice isn’t remotely angry; he’s too busy studying his friend, who runs a hand through his already messy hair. 

“I think I have to get back to the lab. Don’t you have assignments to grade?” It’s painfully obvious Combeferre’s trying to leave Enjolras and Grantaire alone, and Courfeyrac, the terrifying torts professor, flat-out giggles before leaving as well. 

“E!” Courfeyrac calls out as they leave. Surprised at the loud noise, Enjolras drops his chalk, but whips his head around at his friend. “Eat the goddamn salad. Grantaire will report when he shows up to lesson this afternoon.” Then the two are gone. Sighing, Enjolras puts his glasses back on and turns back to the board, wiping his face with his hand (and getting chalk all over his face in the process). Then he goes back to work. 

“I’m literally not allowed to leave unless I’m bringing you with me,” Grantaire notes, but Enjolras is dead to the world. Settling in, Grantaire merely pulls out his case notes to work on as he waits. (Though he doesn’t know how much work he’ll get done when Enjolras’s ass looks so good in those tight dress pants.) 

Honestly, Grantaire doesn’t know what the fuck is going on with this case. All Keating will tell them is that their plan is to smear Lamarque’s name, but Grantaire’s got nothing on him. He got kids into this university on full scholarships, his classes were always filled and received only positive reviews, and he wasn’t married or involved in any relationships. He doesn’t know what business Montparnasse had with him regarding Eponine, but she’s been ignoring Grantaire, so that’s a dead end, too. It’s all too secretive and doesn’t make sense and—

“I can hear you thinking.” Enjolras’s voice cuts into Grantaire’s thoughts. There’s still chalk marks on his right cheek as Enjolras’s beautiful cheek bones grace Grantaire’s line of vision. 

“What are you working on?” Grantaire knows he needs to distract Enjolras so he can take the man to Keating’s office. 

“Just a problem I’d like to solve.” 

“Got it. Not something a law student could get,” Grantaire translates, his voice full of humor. 

“Not necessarily. Everyone can—“ Enjolras starts, but Grantaire cuts him off with a laugh. 

“Not even you, God of Math, can teach me. Barely passed the minimum requirements,” Grantaire gets out, as Enjolras sits down to finally eat the goddamn salad. 

“I doubt that,” Enjolras says, a light smile on his face before he remembers why the law student is even in his classroom. “Did Annalise say why she needed me?” 

“Nope. We’re supposed to be helping her, but she’s telling us less than normal. All I know is that the trial starts in four weeks; she got it delayed.” Grantaire’s voice is light, and Enjolras moves so he’s sitting next to R. 

“You’re supposed to be digging up dirt on Lamarque.” It’s not a question, so Grantaire doesn’t respond at first. “And you’re not finding anything.”

“None of it makes sense. Eponine liked the guy, and then suddenly she’s at my door crying about how Montparnasse could go to jail for protecting her or something.” Grantaire doesn’t know why he’s talking, but something unreadable flickers on Enjolras’s face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Enjolras’s voice is short and curt, so Grantaire resolves to lighten the mood.

“You’ve got chalk on your face.” 

Fuck. Well, there goes his chance with Probably-Gay-Sexy-Math-Teacher. 

“Now you do, too.” Grantaire isn’t expecting that, but the kiss is better than any of the sex he’s had in the past month, so he’s not complaining. 

Annalise Keating is going to fucking murder him. (And, knowing her, get away with it.) 

****

*

“Two weeks until the trial.” Grantaire has a totally different reason for being in Enjolras’s room this time, and soon enough he’s smiling against the blond man’s kiss. Keating has released them from the case altogether, so he’s not technically doing anything wrong, either.

“And you’re not working it.” Enjolras’s voice is husky, and Grantaire’s wrapping his fingers in the soft blonde curls. His hands are still at his sides, covered in chalk. 

“Why do you even use chalk anymore?” Grantaire asks as Enjolras pulls him closer. They’re like a couple of teenagers, but neither of them care. Something’s clicked, and it’s wonderful and scary and though Grantaire does not do boyfriends he likes this. He likes this a lot. 

“It leaves its mark.” Enjolras’s thumb brushes against Grantaire’s face, leaving a faint trail of yellow, and Grantaire knows they’re going to do something straight out of a low-budget porno really soon. 

And Grantaire is rarely wrong. 

****

*

“Doesn’t your ass hurt?” Bahorel asks two weeks later when Enjolras and Grantaire walk into the courtroom at the same time (but not together), Grantaire’s hair uncharacteristically rumpled and free from the gel’s normal hold on it.

“Why says it’s my ass?” It totally is. Which is weird, because… nevermind. 

Just then both Frank and Combeferre appear behind Grantaire.

“We need to talk.” 

****

*

“There are things you don’t know,” is how Frank starts it, and Grantaire fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“I know nothing about anything on this case,” he says, but the sass dies when he sees Combeferre’s strict look. This is some serious shit.

“For a reason. But, considering your new… situation, you should know before it all comes out in court.” Combeferre’s voice is cold, and Grantaire goddamn knows that he doesn’t approve, but it doesn’t matter. They’re not doing any feelings right now. Right? 

“If it’s about Enjolras, shouldn’t he be the one to talk about it?” Grantaire’s voice is in prime ice form, because he really can’t deal with this shit right now. Things just started with Enjolras and he’s not going to fuck this up for once. Not when there’s a cute nerd who Grantaire’s maybe not just fucking for the sake of fucking. Maybe. It’s still undetermined. 

“Unfortunately, he opted not to do that because he’s a goddamn idiot, and it’s too late for that. So shut up and listen.” Combeferre’s voice is a weird mix of coldness and affection, and Grantaire’s respect for the man triples in that instant. When the pair is done explaining, Grantaire has to fight the urge to vomit. 

Shit’s about to go down in that courtroom. Shit that Enjolras isn’t prepared for.

Fucking dammit. (Grantaire is so into this emotionally. He’s so far deep and he has no time to deal with that because Enjolras is about to be destroyed.) 

****

*

Enjolras’s testimony is straightforward. He can’t bring himself to look at R (Grantaire is _not_ thinking about how that letter looked in chalk on Enjolras’s skin), but he’s calm and honest about everything. He explains the deals Lamarque made, how he’d help someone and then demand payment in… in sexual favors. Enjolras knows this is why Jehan is dead, but he says he made a different deal with Lamarque after Eponine appeared. Whenever Lamarque wanted, Enjolras would let him do whatever he wanted, so he’d stop doing it to other people. He wouldn’t let Lamarque pull his sick shit on Eponine.

But then Eponine takes the stand. At this point, he’s sitting back with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, looking shaken but reassured after a short, whispered conversation with Combeferre. For the Keating Five’s part… well, they’re pretty much losing their shit. _This_ is what Professor Keating had hid for so long, and they’re all glancing at R as he clenches his jaw. He knows what’s about to happen. And he can’t stop it. 

“What happened the night Professor Lamarque died?” It’s a simple question, stated calmly by the best goddamn defense lawyer in Philadelphia, but Grantaire starts shaking uncontrollably. 

“Dude, are you all right?” Bahorel whispers, but Grantaire just shrugs him off. He’s ready to spring into action at any moment. 

“Professor Lamarque said he wanted to meet me in his office, to talk about next semester,” Eponine starts, her voice shaking. She’s looking at R, who just gives a nod of encouragement. And he hates himself for it. “Montparnasse was with me, because we were going to go to this diner afterward. He was waiting outside of the office while Lamarque talked to me. We’d had other meetings, and he was getting really bad about personal space. Well, long story short, he kissed me and I panicked, and Montparnasse rushed into the office. I had pushed Lamarque off, and he was screaming about how he made me and he was going to break me if I didn’t do what he wanted. He forced himself on me… and Montparnasse just tried to pull him off.” She doesn’t elaborate past that moment, but it doesn’t matter. The jury’s emotions are fully backing up Montparnasse now. 

“No. It’s a lie.” This time the words are from Enjolras. Enjolras, who let the sick fuck do whatever he wanted so no one else would have to suffer like he did. “He wouldn’t… he promised me… he said he…” Enjolras can’t get out complete words, but he’s standing up, and so does Grantaire.

“I’ve got this,” he says to Combeferre and Courfeyrac as Enjolras marches forward, intercepting him and physically hauling his… hauling Enjolras out of the hall. 

“He wouldn’t! We had a deal!” Enjolras keeps repeating the words, until Grantaire’s leaning the man against the wall outside of the courtroom. He knows the panic racing through Enjolras’s head—hell, Grantaire’s dealt with enough of his own shit to realize what’s going on—so he just silently cards his hands through Enjolras’s hair once the yells turn to mumbling, trying desperately to calm the man down. 

There are tears streaming from grey eyes and Enjolras’s wiry form is sinking to the floor, his hands going to his blond curls. 

“Come on, Enj. Come back to me; it’s okay. It’s over. He didn’t hurt her. He didn’t do anything. You’re okay.” Grantaire knows he’s spouting shit, but something clicks and suddenly Enjolras is clinging to Grantaire. Grantaire returns the embrace just as tightly, guiding Enjolras’s head to his neck so he can cry into the privacy of Grantaire’s suit. 

“I don’t know what I thought was going to happen,” Enjolras rasps out after a while, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I knew that if he… the only reason Montparnasse could use the protecting defense was if… but I couldn’t. I hoped he just tried to hit her or something. No one should… no one should have to deal with any of that. But especially not the…” Enjolras can’t form a coherent thought, and can’t finish his sentence.

“You shouldn’t have had to either.” Grantaire is still hugging Enjolras, and his words have the other man gripping him tighter. 

“I owed him.” 

“No one ever owes someone like that. God, Enj… he was just a sick fuck. You shouldn’t have been in that position.” Grantaire’s voice is rough and it cracks, but then Enjolras pulls away.

“I thought you would… I didn’t know what you would do. Ferre and Courf told me to tell you before today, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t and—“ Enjolras is hyperventilating again, and Grantaire needs to stop it. 

“It’s okay, Enjolras. I’m not mad at you.” Grantaire means what he says, and it takes another few minutes for Enjolras to pull himself together enough to stop crying. Combeferre and Courfeyrac appear during that time, as the court’s about to let out for jury deliberation, but Enjolras doesn’t lift his mop of curls from Enjolras’s shoulder. 

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” With a light kiss to Enjolras’s forehead, he releases him to his best friends, who know what to do right now so much better than Grantaire. But they have to basically pry the blond man off of Grantaire, and now the Keating Five are standing off to the side. 

“Let go, Enj. We’ll talk later. Just go home and rest. It’ll be okay.” Grantaire’s words are mumbled into Enjolras’s ear, but they have the desired effect. In a matter of seconds the math genius is on his feet and being led away by his friends. 

“So the ice queen does have a heart after all,” Cosette quips, for lack of anything better to do. 

“Shut the fuck up, prom queen.” It’s not back to normal, back to before that night Eponine came crashing into his door, but it’s close. 

Dammit, maybe Grantaire does do boyfriends. But only hot, blonde math ones that wear bowties.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really going to regret posting this, aren't I?


End file.
